Page 92 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Like this?” he asks, giving the process a try for himself.

“You got it. Now all we have to do is repeat that fifty more times. Got it?”

“Fifty? I thought you only needed thirty?”

“A few more orders have come in.”

“Since we…?”

“Yes,since we. Plus it’s good to have backup. Valentine’s Day is a major holiday for lovers. I’m banking on these being big sellers and I want to be prepared for a surge after they work so well.”

“Oh, yeah. Valentine’s Day. We don’t have that in Sweden. I still can’t believe people really celebrate that here. It seems so commercial.”

“Life’s too short to spend time getting worked up about whether or not Valentine’s Day is a real holiday. Yes, it’s commercial. But given the nature of my business, commercial is good.”

Commercial is how I move out of Chicago,I say to myself, wondering if that’s still the plan considering how well things with Ollie are going.

“Fine. I’ll buy in. Moonie, will you be my Valentine?”.

Time with Ollie has gone by so effortlessly fast, it’s almost scary. Regardless, I nod my head yes and he leans over to kiss me sweetly.

As our lips part, the two of us kneel over the ledge of the bathtub. Our pizza-stuffed bellies rest against the porcelain as we take turns filling the jars and chatting.

“This is really mind blowing to me,” he states as he fills his third vessel.

“What is?”

“The fact that I’m here, with you, doingthis.It’s just…I design buildings down to their nuts and bolts. I solve complex construction issues. I know every city code in the book and how to work around them. I do not…bottle up ‘Love Potion.’”

“Feels good to take the stick out of your ass though, doesn’t it? I mean you’ve got to admit this is kind of fun.”

“Yes, I haven’t had this much fun since my Intro to Chem class back in the day.”

Ollie holds up a bottle for my quality control check. I give him the thumbs up. He moves on the next one as I mentally note how far he’s come from the days of not being able separate an escape room from reality.

“So do you think this stuff really works?” he asks.

“You came over to work on this with me and it led to some damn good sex. Coincidence? I think not,” I say with a smile.

“I like hearing you say our sex was damn good. For the record, I agree.”

I feel my face flush as he finishes up another jar.

“But I don’t think that had anything to do with the potion,” he tacks on.

There’s a hint—okay, more like a heaping spoonful—of residual skepticism when he says that. I can’t help but feel a tad defeated, like I’m a Jehovah’s Witness failing at selling him my nontrinitarian beliefs on Christianity.

“Let me guess. You’re having fun, but you still think it’s silly,” I say.

Whatever skepticism was in his voice is now matched with the deflation in mine.

“No, that’s not what I mean at all. I’m not humoring you, I promise. I don’t have time for that. I respect you and I respect your work. Angeline, too. But after my session with her, it hit me that your guys’ work is a little-of-this, a little-of-that, andpoofhere’s some magic in a bottle for you. Everything inmyfield has to be exact. A quarter turn in the wrong direction and an elevator can go plummeting fifteen stories. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Poof?I have at least thirty people whose love lives depend on me finishing these orders up tonight. That’s a lot of responsibility, too,” I remind him.

I don’t mean for my voice to come off combative. I’m aiming for educational. I want to remind him that who I am and what I do is just as legitimate as anyone else who has a job with paying customers.

“How do you quantify that?” he asks. The already-quiet house goes deafeningly silent.

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